


The World Changes

by Asphodel22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark!Harry, Gen, Necromancer!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asphodel22/pseuds/Asphodel22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has made some changes in his life recently...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Changes

**Author's Note:**

> AU from the time of Dumbledore's death. This is my first attempt at writing in English (not my first language) and it is not betaed. I apologize in advance for all mistakes. This was at first supposed to be a OneShot, but I have got some more ideas for it so I may add some additional chapters occasionally.

Harry watched with a mixture of disgust and curiosity while the Dark Lord was writhing on the floor, screaming in agony. He twirled the thirteen inch and phoenix-feather yew wand between his fingers, and relaxed. This had been easier than he had thought it would be. Voldemort finally stopped screaming and lay still, breathing heavily. Harry stood up and stepped closer; stopping for a moment to study the face of the man who had been his nemesis for so long. The red eyes widened as Voldemort recognized him, but the man was far too weak to do anything. There was no fear. Strange... Dumbledore had claimed that Voldemort feared nothing more than death, and Harry wondered if that was still true. He must have feared death at one point, to create all his Horcruxes. Why else would someone do something so insane? Now, however… now, things had changed. “When you feel better, we should talk,” he said, and tossed the wand into the air just before apparating. He would savor the shocked expression on the Dark Lord’s face for the rest of his life.

.

One month later, Voldemort appeared in a small cottage in Scotland. Harry smiled at the surprised expression in his face when he noticed his surroundings, and took the hissing tea kettle from the oven to pour two cups of tea. “I was not sure you would come.”

The Dark Lord studied the small kitchen he had appeared in for a moment. It was mundane, neither obviously wizard nor muggle. It was quaint and homely, with yellow flower curtains on the windows, and rickety wooden furniture with chipped white veneer. He sat down at the kitchen table and placed his hands on the blue and white checkered tablecloth, steepling his thin, long fingers. “If you had wanted to kill me, you already had your chance.”

“True.” Harry placed one of the tea cups in front of him. “Took some trust to take the portkey, nonetheless.”

Voldemort smiled and sipped his tea without hesitation. He looked almost ordinary this way, especially now that his unnatural appearance had been replaced by that of a still quite handsome grey-haired man in his seventies. “You made me curious, I suppose. Also, I’m not that easy to catch and hold, should that have been your intention.”

“I suppose not.” Harry returned the smile and sat down on the other side of the table. “You do feel better, I take it. You have not tried to curse or kill me yet.”

“You can hardly answer my questions when you are dead.” Voldemort studied him. “So… you found all my Horcruxes. Quite the feat. And instead of destroying them, you decided to restore my soul. Why?”

Harry closed his hands around his cup. “It was the only way I could get rid of the piece of your soul that was inside me without dying. I plan to live a long and successful life, dying was not part of the plan. Also, the fact that it put you in my debt was a nice benefit. Magical life debts are quite advantageous.”

Voldemorts eyes narrowed for the fragment of a second, and then he smiled again. “You are smarter than I was led to believe.”

Harry shrugged. “I was not always this smart. Once Dumbledore died and I learned about the Horcrux inside me, I had two choices – I could play the old man’s game and sacrifice my life heroically as he no doubt had intended, or I could take steps to ensure my survival. I choose to do the latter. I choose to do so alone, with the resources available to me, resources that were surprisingly larger than I thought. You should have taken steps to keep my true inheritance from me.”

Voldemort leaned back in his chair. “Which is?”

“For one, the Black fortune, which Sirius Black left to me. In my ignorance I once thought it only included a rundown house in the middle of London, can you believe that?” Harry chuckled. “Fortunately, the goblins were quick to teach me otherwise, once I asked them. Furthermore, imagine my surprise when I learned that I was the last descendant and heir of Ignotus Peverell, a name that meant nothing to me when I first heard it, but not for long. After all, being the master of the Elder Wand, such ignorance could have cost me dearly.” He smiled wryly when he saw Voldemort’s eyes widen. “Do not try to take it from me. By now, I have naturally taken steps to make that impossible. I became master of the wand directly after Dumbledore’s death, chasing after and disarming Draco Malfoy. Somehow, I don’t think that was the old man’s intention when he left me the other two Hallows. I don’t think he wanted the wand to call me right there, and me to pick it up and keep it. I think he wanted me to become Master of Death much later, maybe only when I had decided to die. That’s why he hid the ring in a snitch protected with charms, he never expected that I would be able to open it with the Elder Wand.” His voice turned cold. “Alas, best laid plans fail.” Harry stood up and moved to the counter, preparing himself another cup of tea. “I became Master of Death more than a year ago. When that happened, I immediately knew about the Horcrux. It was as if a sudden clarity had descended on my mind, and I knew things I had never known before, I saw things like I never saw them before. I had one year to become what I am now. You may say that is not much time, compared to the many decades that you had to become what you are. That is true. However, I had advantages that you did not have. Being Master of Death I could learn from my ancestors in a way that you never could. I could make their experiences my own, their knowledge and wisdom. I am not the wizard I was a year ago. Not by far.”

“What do you want then? Why have you called me here? To gloat?”

Harry laughed. “A little, maybe. But no… It may surprise you, but we have some goals in common. Do you think I would have healed you, if that was not so? I think it would be quite counterproductive to waste our energies on fighting each other.”

“You intend to join me?” Voldemort asked, stunned.

Harry leaned against the counter. “Let’s make that clear right away and once and for all, I will never join you. I am no one’s minion. We have some goals in common, I said, not all. However, I might be an ally, given the right incentives. I know you don’t like it, but the prophecy was right, we are equals. I have no intention to ‘vanquish’ you if you don’t force my hand, and anyway, I think that prophecy has been fulfilled by now. I would like you to listen to my council… and there are some other small things I want. The death of some muggles, for example, which should not be a big problem for you.”

Voldemort laughed. “We are not equals, Potter. You might be a formidable wizard, but I am the Dark Lord. I have an army at my disposal.”

“As do I,” countered Harry, watching with satisfaction as the laughter ceased. He pointed towards the window, where an old graveyard lay behind the garden. “There is my army. What did you think Master of Death means? You have called Inferi before, but it costs you quite a bit of magic and time consuming ritual if I’m not mistaken. For me, it is merely a thought to raise the dead. I have legions at my command should I so wish. I do not wish it, though. The dead should have their rest. I want to destroy the system from within. I want to remake our world according to my vision, and be hailed as a hero. Dumbledore almost got there, but he was too timid in the end, he lost his vision. He once knew the danger that muggles represent just as we do, he once wanted to preserve our world just as we do. He lost his way. I don’t intend to make the same mistakes.”

Voldemort stood up. “You want me to play the villain to your hero, is that your plan?”

Harry raised his eyebrows with slight amusement. “You have made yourself the villain. That is, you have made the Dark Lord Voldemort the villain, a snake-like monster that haunts children in their nightmares. You could always remake yourself as someone else. Lord Voldemort could never rule at my side, true. Harry Potter’s mentor however, a cousin Peverell maybe, far removed, would be a different story.”

“Rule by your side, you arrogant boy?” Voldemort hissed, finally losing his composure. He pointed his wand at Harry. “If I did not owe you a life debt, I would have killed you several times already!”

Harry calmly folded his hands. “A moot point, because you do.”

For a moment they stared at each other, until Voldemort lowered his wand.

“You say our goals are the same. I have a hard time imagining that. I killed your parents, after all.”

Harry froze. “I have not forgotten that,” he said, his voice icy. “I have not forgotten a single one of the people you killed, and the people that were killed in your name. If things were different, I would gladly kill you without a second thought, and believe me, I enjoyed watching you suffer.” He closed his hands around his teacup and took a deep breath. “I need you more than I wish you dead. I could probably reach my goals without you, but it would take years. I would lose many people, among them those who could be allies, all due to a war that is pointless. I would defeat you and your followers, but I do not like the cost, not when it is unnecessary. I hate you, but this is not about hate. This is not about revenge. This is for the greater good. We both have our grievances. I propose to put them aside, because everything we both want, we can achieve faster and better, together.”

Voldemort considered him for long moments. Finally he put his wand back in his sleeve and raised his cup. “Very well. Let us talk about goals then. Let us talk about… alliance.”

.

Draco hurried to kneel when the Dark Lord entered the room. Somehow, the dark wizard had become even more vicious recently, at least when it came to Draco and his family. He had called Draco back from Hogwarts, not to use him as his torturer, as before, but to use him as a tool to torture his parents. Draco shivered. He did not know for sure why his Lord was so angry with them, but it seemed it was because of something his father had done. He had lost a book, of all things. A stupid book.

They had fared better than Bellatrix at least, who was dead because a sword and a cup had disappeared from her vault. One item too many.

His heart rate accelerated as he watched Nagini trailing behind their Lord. Draco was terrified of that snake.

He heard the inner circle members taking seats along the table, but did not dare to look up. He and his family had lost their right to sit at this table a long time ago. No matter that it was their manor, their dining room, their damn table. He suppressed these thoughts hastily. He could not allow himself to think this way. Their Lord was merciful to let them live.

“My friends…” said the Dark Lord in his terrifying high voice. “I have called you here today to discuss several new developments of utmost importance to our cause. First, we will relocate our base of operations. I have recently reacquired a family property that is much more suitable for our purposes, especially as our forces are growing.”

Draco barely hid a sigh of relief, and he knew his parents felt the same.

“May I ask where we will move, my Lord?” he heard his godfather ask.

“Certainly, Severus. We will move to Castle Peverell, in Northumberland.”

He heard several surprised gasps. They all knew the Dark Lord was from an old pureblood line, of course, but they had not known he was a Peverell.

“Secondly,” the Lord said, “I have decided to gift this place to a new ally. May I introduce my cousin, Lord Black.”

Draco looked up then, shocked, and he saw his father had done the same. The man next to the Dark Lord was wearing a grey robe, and a mask of bones that hid most of his face. A skeleton of a bird crouched on his shoulder, and flew up with a screech as all eyes turned to him. A necromancer.

He traded a look with his father, horrified. Could the Dark Lord really do this? Give their home away to someone else on a whim? What a stupid question. Of course he could. Draco swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. What did that mean for them? Would they become homeless?

The red eyes of the Dark Lord met his, and Draco froze, petrified, when those thin lips formed a cruel smirk. “A house is just a house without servants, however, and I am always generous to my allies. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco…”

They stood up hesitantly. His mother took Draco’s hand and clutched it anxiously.

“You have not been very good servants to me. You have failed me, again, and again, and I have grown tired of it, very tired. I have given you so many chances, and you have wasted them all. It is a pity…”

“Please, my Lord…” begged his father, his voice thin. The Dark Lord raised a hand, and he fell silent.

“For some reason, Lord Black is willing to give you yet another chance. I hope you do not disappoint him, as you did me.” The Dark Lord pointed his wand at them, and hissed a spell.

Bright fire slammed into them and Draco screamed as his arm burned, a fire that travelled from there into the rest of his body. He could hear the screams of his parents, but his own pain consumed every other thought. When the pain lessened, heavy manacles encircled his wrists, and the Dark Mark on his arm was gone.

“Let that be a lesson for the rest of you,” hissed the Dark Lord. “You do not betray my trust and are forgiven.”

He raised his arms, and all of them stood. A moment later, they were all gone, only the dead bird remained.

Draco’s father stumbled to his feet and tore at the manacles on his wrists. They would not come off. “He has made us slaves”, he said hoarsely. “That vicious, hateful monster has enslaved us to that necromancer!”

Draco shook his head in denial, although he knew it was true. His mother was sobbing.

“They are all gone”, he whispered. “We still have one wand, maybe if we apparate…”

“Flee, you mean?” His father laughed bitterly. “It is too late.” He raised his hand, fingers clenched into a fist. “This is not just decoration. It is a curse. If our new _master_ does not claim us within the day, we will all die.”

Draco shivered, wondering if that had been the Dark Lord’s intention. He did not expect a quick death. He felt numb. He had expected to die, sooner or later. Part of him had always known that Voldemort was just playing with them, like a lazy cat plays with a mouse. He thought back to the day Dumbledore had offered him sanctuary. Could he have prevented this, if he had gone to him in the very beginning? If the old wizard was alive… if Severus had not killed him… He shook his head. That was all in the past. Soon, the ministry would fall, and the Dark Lord would rule Britain. Dumbledore could not have done a thing. He wrapped one arm around his mother and kissed her temple, drawing her into an embrace. Her sobs slowly ceased. “We enslaved ourselves, the day we took the Dark Mark,” he said miserably. “This is just the latest consequence.”

“Do you blame _me_ for this?” His father was pale, and he looked even more deranged than usual. Azkaban had changed him. The proud man Draco had once admired was gone, replaced by a wretched creature that made him feel pity, disgust, and anger, all at once. He had loved his father… he still loved him, but he could no longer be blind to his faults.

“Maybe I do,” Draco said, suddenly angry. “If you had not destroyed that damn book we would not be here! And for what? To spite Weasley? Was that worth it?”

His father stared at him as if he had never seen him before. He clenched his fists, but he didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything. He looked helpless, in his dirty robe, unshaven and his hair unkempt. Not even a shadow of his former self.

“You are pathetic,” Draco spat, overcome with disgust. “I mean, look at you. Just look at you. You lost everything. You lost us everything.”

Lucius turned away from him, and took a few steps towards the door. Running away. Draco sneered.

“I would not leave just yet,” said a hollow voice from the other side of the room.

They all turned around, and there stood the necromancer, their new master. He beckoned with one bony hand. “Draco Malfoy… come here.”

His mother clutched at him as Draco stood up. He slowly and calmly pried her fingers loose from his robes, and walked towards the wizard, kneeling in front of him. He could not see his eyes behind the mask when the man looked down. There was only darkness. The necromancer seemed to study him for a moment, then he grabbed one of his wrists in an iron grip. “I claim you,” he said.

The manacles seemed to melt, and Draco watched with morbid fascination as the metal moved down his arms and wrapped around his upper arms and throat like a living thing. Then it sank into his skin, and he screamed.

He awoke abruptly shortly later, barely aware that he had lost consciousness.

“Get up.”

Draco forced himself to obey, although he could barely stand.

“You will return to Hogwarts and finish your NEWTs,” said his new master. “Go and pack.”

Draco looked at him disbelievingly, but the motionless mask told him nothing. Finally he stumbled towards the door, knowing a dismissal when he heard it.

“One more thing,” the necromancer said as he reached the door. “You shall not use any dark arts from now on. It would… interfere. If you disobey me in this, I _will_ know.”

 

“Yes, Master,” he croaked. He stumbled through the door and leaned against the wall once outside, his heart thumping in his chest. This was disobedience, but he had to know what would happen to his parents. He listened, and heard him call his mother. Shortly after, she screamed. Draco bit down on his fist and waited anxiously for another noise once the screams stopped.

“I wish this manor to be refurbished,” the necromancer said. “Completely. You will take care of that, and you will represent the Malfoys and Blacks in the Wizengamot from now on. You are familiar with your husband’s business, I take it?” Draco did not hear his mother’s answer, it was so faint, but it must have been affirmative, because the wizard said “Good. Consider yourself head of this house from now on. I expect you to look appropriate for your position, the next time I see you. Go.”

A little bit later his mother staggered through the door. Draco hushed her quickly, before she could give him away, and pulled her into his arms. They clasped each other, and listened breathlessly.

“I told the Dark Lord that I need pureblood wizards for some of my rituals, and that this manor, with its position on the Wiltshire ley lines, would be prefect for my purposes,” said the hollow voice of necromancer. “He expected that I would use all of you, and turn this place into a graveyard, but that would be a terrible waste, don’t you agree? I have much more uses for this place and your families influence. Now, I give you a choice, Lucius. For my rituals, I do not need three people, I only need one. Which one, do you think, should I choose?”

“Have you not already decided?” Lucius sounded tired.

“No, I have not,” answered the other wizard. “I wanted them out of our way, so that you can choose freely. Have no doubt, you are by far the most useful for me, Lucius. You know your business and politics far better than your wife, and Draco is just a boy. Once the Dark Lord takes the Ministry, which will be soon, all charges against you will be dropped. You have still a great deal of influence, not only in Britain, but also on the continent. I plan to use that.”

Draco and his mother stared at each other, dreading what his father would do.

“My wife knows my contacts just as well as I,” said Lucius after a moment of silence. “She knows everything about them I know, they will listen to her just as they would listen to me.”

“I suppose she would be useful then.” The necromancer pondered this. “I presume you can always beget another heir.”

His mother’s fingers clutched Draco’s robes and she shook her head, her eyes wide and terrified.

“No!” It was his father’s voice that had shouted, and Draco was surprised how desperate he sounded. “Take me. Take me instead.”

“Are you sure?” The necromancer seemed bemused. “Are you sure that is what you want? I will not kill you immediately, you realize.”

“I don’t care,” Lucius rasped. “I don’t care what you do to me. Just leave them be.”

“Very well. I said I would give you the choice and I keep my word. If this is truly what you wish…”

“It is.”

“Good.”

A moment later, Draco’s father was screaming. His mother made a move towards the door, but Draco grabbed her and dragged her away from the room, upstairs towards the family wing. The doors dampened the sounds, and soon there was silence around them.

Draco was shocked by the realization that his father had sacrificed himself for them, and horrified by the thought that the spiteful words he had said before might be very well the last thing he ever said to him.

They sat on the chaise longue in the tea room, both shivering. Draco grabbed a bottle with firewhisky, and filled a glass. His fingers were trembling so much that he spilled half of it. He had rarely drunken it before; it was his father who had tried to drown himself in alcohol. Now, however, he welcomed the burn, and the numbness that followed. His mother did not say anything. Instead, she wordlessly took the bottle and filled her own glass.

“He will kill him,” she said, after a moment of silence. She did not cry this time, she just looked lost.

“I know.” Draco stared into his glass. There were no answers there.

.

“This is my uncle,” Harry said, “Anastasios Peverell.”

To Ginny, the man looked vaguely and disquietingly familiar, although she could not quite place him, like a relative she had seen once as a small child and long forgotten. It bugged her for a few minutes, before she forgot about it. Anastasios was a charming old man, who told the funniest jokes, and had brought presents for all of them. He called her a beautiful young lady, and whispered conspiratorially she must be the one Harry had missed so much, and from that moment on she liked him, and later thought she always had. Later, much later, she would remember, but then it would be too late, far too late.

.

Lucius’ hands clenched around the stones, while Harry peeled another layer of skin from his back and watched the blood pool in the middle of the ritual circle. Maybe he would call Cadmus this time, he thought, tell him what his descendant was up to. Cadmus would be amused, of that he was sure, maybe he would even tell him one new secret or two. What Harry would really like to know was the future, but for that he would need a virgin sacrifice, and Lucius was not that. “Tell me you want this,” he whispered.

Lucius obliged, nearly delirious from blood loss.

He might not be a virgin sacrifice, but he was a willing one, and that was enough for most of the more powerful summonings. Harry smiled and trailed a hand over Lucius’ back. It was never about pure blood. All wizard blood was pure, when it came to this, as long as it contained magic. Lucius had almost killed Ginny, and he might not have killed Sirius, but Bellatrix was dead, so he was the next best thing. That was what all this was about. That, and that Harry had wanted to save Draco, for some stupid, misguided reason. He might change his mind yet, but so far Draco was safe at Hogwarts.

His father was anything but safe, but Harry would not kill him. He carved another rune into Lucius’ shoulder, and trailed his bloodied fingers through the blond hair, streaking it with red highlights. Lucius was far too useful for him, and sacrifices did not have to die, as long as there was death. Harry smiled at the peacocks that twisted and twitched in their ropes, their white feathers stained pink. They were quite beautiful, and he reminded himself to tell Narcissa to buy more as soon as possible. They did not breed fast enough, unfortunately.


End file.
